


Admit it

by transcowboy



Category: Cowboy Bebop
Genre: Drabble, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, POV Alternating, Stubborn Idiots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-15
Updated: 2014-09-15
Packaged: 2018-02-17 13:23:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2311139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/transcowboy/pseuds/transcowboy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spike craves Jet. Jet craves Spike.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Admit it

Everything about Spike entrances Jet. The way his breath shallows when he’s close to his temporary little death. The way his breath evens out afterwards, and the way he’ll let Jet wrap his arms around him and pull him close, just to make sure that this is real, and that Spike is safe. And Spike smiles just a little when Jet starts getting especially affectionate at this point; pressing up against his back and burying his face into his neck, whispering sweet, cliched nothings.

Jet would never admit that he loved it.

* * *

 

Likewise, Spike would never admit how much he craved Jet. His soft touches, so different in variety between his calloused human hand and cold metal one. Jet would be so unintentionally teasing with the slow rolling of his hips, as if afraid he'd break Spike were he too rough. This is around the time Spike would flip them over and straddle Jet's hips, reassuring him in a low voice that he could handle whatever Jet could give. And then, when he started riding him, Jet would slowly lose his mind, his fingernails digging into Spike's slender and boyish hips, which in turn made Spike growl Jet's name in such a deliciously filthy way.

Spike would never admit that he loved it.

* * *

Spike is the last to fall asleep that night, despite the encouragement of a good orgasm and the soft, ragged breathing of a lullaby that belongs to the man behind him. Jet thinks he’s asleep right now, and he’s gently kissing the ends of that ridiculously wild hair of Spike’s, one at a time. It’s unbelievably soft tonight, even after such rigorous exercises, and Jet has to resist waking Spike up to have another round. Which was mostly encouraged by the thought of just getting a chance to bury his hand in that tangle of hair that he knew that made Spike shiver when pulled again.  
Jet doesn't sleep until he's kissed every lock.

* * *

Spike finally seems to find sleep and rolls over just a few hours later, groggy, and he curls instinctively into Jet, who’s stolen all the blankets. Spike’s freezing and, rather grumpily, he tries to steal a blanket back, only to be met with brute resistance by a fast asleep Jet who’s determined to keep all the blankets for himself. “You idiot…” Spike says softly then, chuckling hoarsely and scooting in closer, wrapping his arms around Jet’s neck and burying his face in the crook of his neck. Jet smells musty, Spike notes, like an old house or a stifling summer day. He also smells like men’s deodorant and grass. It’s such a strange combination, an artificial smell and an earthy smell together. But somehow, it just works, and it suits Jet well.


End file.
